The Urban Myth
by FantasyTrepie14
Summary: [Chapter 4 Finally Added!] AU. A rookie reporter becomes involved in the story that will change her life forever...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Gabrielle peered at the digital numbers flashing bright red convictions at her eyes.

_7:30... 7:31_. Snooze.

She rolled over into her second pillow. The sun hadn't emerged yet, thanks to the dreary disposition of late autumn in New York. Whenever winter reared its ugly head Gabrielle's lingering depression mimicked its actions. Another year had gone by and she was still at the same dull office doing the same dull tasks every dull day with every one of her dull co-workers who all had dull lives.

She was supposed to be writing books. Creative novel writing based on classical mythology was supposed to be her specialty. Double majoring in classical mythology and creative writing was supposed to award the hard working woman with her dream job. Ever since the first time she read _The Odyssey,_ Gabrielle knew that she wanted to write stories like that.

Five years later, she is still nothing more than an office bitch whose idea of excitement is organizing the file cabinet backwards. Sure, once or twice a week a reporter doesn't show and Gabrielle gets to go on scene and even on television to report, but the events of contemporary New York didn't spark her interest at all. The same murders in the same dark alleys. The same irritated customers suing over the same false advertising gimmicks. Everything was the same.

A news building was not the place for her.

After the unsatisfied groaning in her head stopped, Gabrielle stretched and rose from her bed. Her hand fell on the alarm. She yawned to fill the silence. While patting barefoot across the carpet floor of her bedroom her hands tousled her short blond hair. Last week she had decided for something different. A short crop that was sophisticated and sexy. Not that anyone except Roger noticed. Roger was Gabrielle's only friend at the office. The two of them didn't have much in common or have great things to discuss over coffee. He had a hopeless crush on her, and she relished in the fact that someone would bend over backwards to get with her. He knew exactly how she liked her coffee and didn't hesitate to put aside his own duties to finish up her crap work.

All in all, a great relationship. She smiled ruefully to herself. A dorky office guy who treated her like the high school prom queen was the best she'd get for now. Gabrielle scratched her belly underneath the green t-shirt she wore to bed. Her stomach wasn't as firm as she remembered. She grabbed a pen and scribbled herself some gym time Thursday evening.

The daily routine began. Coffee made, purse ready, and keys on the table next to the book she started reading a week ago about Norse Mythology in case the boss was too tired to assign her two sets of file work.

Gabrielle glanced out the window of her third story apartment in the heart of the city. People wandered the streets with either filled briefcases or empty wallets. How many people made as much money as she did, and were just as miserable?

"Time for another boring day…"

The early morning dusk and pollution made it difficult to see where she was going. She remembered when she was a young girl. These back alleys used to be safe to play in with her friends. Dumpsters and abandoned crates were perfect devices for hide and seek. Now, over twenty years later, she only walked these dangerous paths when she was in a hurry. On days like today, when she was running late and hadn't gotten around to cashing her paycheck so she couldn't hail a taxi, she was left with only one option; take the quickest route to the office.

Her heels splashed in the sewage that dwelled in the pavement's cracks. She couldn't help but feel afraid. All the news coverage she'd been investigating for the past few weeks revolved around the rapid increase of gang violence. Theft, murder, rape; the violent youths stopped at nothing to turn ordinary lives into living hells. Despite her in-depth research, she still didn't know their motives.

While putting a hood over her head to protect her curly hair from the sewage dripping down from the broken pipes overhead she heard a scuffle in the shadows. She froze. She instinctively reached for her purse and stuffed it inside her jacket.

Beneath the drips of sewage and crying of stray cats, she swore she heard laughter. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her labored breaths. After mentally collecting herself she rushed on ahead until her path was blocked.

A man stood before her. His wide body filled her eyes. Too scared to meet his eyes, she stared down at his leather boots and the black water surrounding them.

"Take a good look, boys." His hard and cracked fingers grabbed onto her chin and jerked her face upwards. The fright in her blue eyes shone through the dark. "It's the news bitch that's trying to unmask our secret."

His eyes were shielded by the morning fog and the shade of his hat. The assailant's smile, however, was wide with satisfaction, surrounded by a hairy ring of coal. "Tiffany from Channel 7. So pleased to make your acquaintance," he jeered.

A hard swallow went down her throat. "Let me go."

"With pleasure," he swung his clenched fist against her face and sent her sprawling into the muck.

The hard impact knocked the wind out of her lungs. The world around her became a black and gray spiral. Before she could attempt to get back to her feet a dozen men were on her, crushing her body with their boots. Tiffany cried out in pain. Warm blood poured out of fresh gashes. When she realized that this was one of the gangs she had covered in a news report, she knew that they had every intention of killing her. Tiffany knew about the horrible ways they killed complete strangers… she was an enemy.

The leader of the gang grabbed her by the collar and held her up. His face, a combination of flesh and black blood, swarmed before her eyes. In his free hand he grasped a handgun. Aimed at her face. He licked the blood gushing from her nose.

"Your body will suit our purposes well." His smile was rueful. "Your sweet blood, and-"

Tiffany screamed when sparks suddenly jumped from his gun. Hot blood sprayed her face. He dropped her. The hard impact to the cracked concrete sent a wave of shock up her spine. Before any of the thugs standing around her hand time to react, a woman dropped from the sky. Despite having to have fallen from multiple stories high, her land was graceful. A curtain of dark hair surrounded the tall woman's body.

Tiffany's gasp pierced the silence.

The antagonist's eyes went wide. Clenching his wounded hand, he stood up straight and tried rallying his men. "It's you!" His deep voice scratched.

"What's the matter?" the woman spoke. Her cool voice froze every man in the alley. "Did you think I was just an urban myth?" She backhanded the man and with one swift motion sent him to the ground.

"Get her!" He growled.

The gang members swarmed her. Tiffany sat up to witness the lone street warrior fight off every assailant. Bones cracked. Bodies hit the ground. The swirls of oil in the dirty water puddles danced around the fallen bodies.

The injured reporter tried to record as many details into her mental data bank as possible. Her head throbbed. The earlier beating sent her head reeling. Slipping in and out of consciousness, she fell to her back, using the sounds of the battle to distract herself.

Eventually the noises dissipated. Between scenes of complete blackness and gray sky, a white visage with an ebony frame filled her sight. Two orbs of ice stared down at her. Tiffany felt hands on her body…

The world went black.

Gabrielle put on her best "I'm ready for a boring day's work" face before entering the news building. She reached the elevator, hit the button for the third floor, and recited the names of the nine muses to a simple rhythmic device she created to help her remember. Maybe she would learn Ancient Greek. Then she could read classic texts in their original language. Homer, Sappho, the New Testament. She dismissed the thought as soon as it came. She couldn't afford to take those classes, nor did she feel like getting ridiculed by her colleagues for wasting time learning a dead language.

The door opened. Gabrielle strolled down the hallway to her division. Her bright, albeit somewhat forced, smile greeted the nameless desk jockeys she saw five days a week. The men and women nodded back and continued towards their destinations with stacks of papers balanced on their arms. Gabrielle thought about the mountains of files the rest of the day would provide.

She entered the office. The central room was booming. In fact, it was more active than usual. The hushed conversations and arm waving didn't look to be caused by a breaking new story or headline. Wrinkles of worry and shadows of secrecy filled the eyes of her co-workers. Women shifted uneasily in their computer chairs as men lowered their voices to give details on the rumors they'd heard.

On most mornings Roger would have already approached her with an excuse to talk. "I've got the new headline," or, "Boss is in a bad mood today," he'd mumble while falling over himself in her presence. Gabrielle walked past concerned reporters. Women looked at her over the brims of their glasses and men turned away from meeting her gaze. She made it to her desk with no sign of Roger or the coffee he always managed to spill all over her paperwork.

Gabrielle heaved her briefcase on her desk. The cluttered desk wasn't entirely hers. She was 'borrowing' it from a reporter that was off on location somewhere in the Middle East. Emily was scheduled to return in about a week. When the time came, Gabrielle would be assigned another temporary place to drop her crap every day. The personal offices branching from the main office made her envious. She never wanted to be a desk jockey, but since she would be stuck in this position for a while, she wished privacy and personal space at the workplace could be more than just a luxury.

_Isn't there a better way to pay off student loans?_

One of the locks on her briefcase was broken. The second, barely keeping the papers from escaping, worked alone. Gabrielle could have afforded a new one. However, she could think of better ways to spend her money. Her dream was to soon go to Europe. She saved up every penny that she earned (and found) to someday take a tour of the Pantheon, St. Paul's Cathedral, or maybe she could go to India and see the Taj Mahal. Having the chance to be in one of these historical buildings full of history and beauty surpassed the need to buy a supply for her empty occupation. Gabrielle decided that she would use her earnings to pursue her dreams, not feed her nightmares.

All of the offices were closed. She tried ignoring the awkwardness of the room. To occupy her mind, she walked over to her arch nemesis: the filing cabinet. Before she had a chance to open a drawer he appeared.

"Hey Gabey," he whispered.

She could feel his breath over her shoulder. Gabrielle rolled her eyes and turned around. Roger stood there, agonizingly close, holding the same coffee cup. His breath was now on her face. The man didn't understand the concept of personal space. Every day he looked the same; a twenty-something year old who still couldn't dress himself. She smirked. Everything about him was crooked. His glasses, his tie, his smile. Even the way he untucked his shirt was wrong. His hair and eyes were a dark contrast to his bubbly personality. Gabrielle may have been the newbie, but Roger was the office clown. Not a day went by without him being the butt of at least a dozen jokes. Sometimes she was associated with Roger since he always hung around her, but she never let it get to her.

His whisper caught her off guard. "Why are you whispering?" she mocked him by keeping her voice just as low.

"Because!" He waved his long arms around, spilling coffee everywhere. Gabrielle frowned. "Tiffany hasn't shown up for work yet, and-"

Before he could finish his sentence one of the office doors opened. Everyone in the main office turned their heads. Mr. Perkins, the head of their branch, emerged from seclusion. Gabrielle couldn't see the expression on his eyes because there was a glare on his coke-bottle glasses, but his gigantic belly shook with fright. He was always kind to her. Granted, his excuse for not giving her a desk to call her own was, _There just ain't enough space, doll,_ but he didn't complain despite her constant harassment.

Gabrielle wasn't going to harass him today.

"Gabrielle," his deep voice rose, "Ms. Podia, are you here?"

Roger's eyes went wide. "Hey, Gabey, he's calling you! I wonder what he could possibly want you for." All eyes turned from Mr. Perkins to the couple standing by the filing cabinet.

Gabrielle sighed again. "God Roger," she groaned, "Can't you just shut up?" Before Roger could defend himself, Mr. Perkins found Gabrielle and was dragging her by the wrist to his office. His balmy palm clenched her wrist. Four sausage fingers gripped her to the bone during the short sprint to his office. Gabrielle couldn't imagine what the problem could be. In fact, a problem big enough to get Mr. Perkins in a running sweat couldn't have anything to do with her.

They entered his office in front of a slammed door. Gabrielle had only been inside his office once, when she was first hired. He took a seat in his plush leather chair. She didn't have time to sit down or look at the plaques lining the walls or the awards collecting dust on the shelves.

"Ms. Podia, this is very important. Please sit down." She obeyed. Sitting across from his desk, she could see the beads of sweat drenching his brow. He continued. "As you may have noticed, Tiffany has not been at the office at all this morning."

Gabrielle bit her bottom lip. She hadn't thought about Tiffany at all. Tiffany Atazon was the star reporter for Channel 7 News. When Gabrielle was first hired, Tiffany acted as her trainer and mentor. They were on friendly grounds. Due to Tiffany's success they saw less and less of each other. Their relationship was formal at best, but Tiffany wasn't rude like the rest of her superiors or a thorn in her side like Roger.

"She is in the hospital." He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a plaited handkerchief.

"What? What happened?"

His heavy shoulders shrugged. "All she told me was that she had just regained consciousness. She insisted that I send you down there."

Gabrielle choked in surprise. "Me? You're kidding, right?"

The curl in his lips showed that Tiffany's request was equally strange to him. "She's at New Island. I'll pay your fare."

Gabrielle shifted uncomfortably in her seat…

"What would Tiffany want with me?"

The ride in the taxi was only fifteen minutes, but it lasted for days. The taxi driver glanced at Gabrielle out of the corner of his eye whenever she readjusted her sitting. Being 42 years old and unshaven, he assumed that she was nervous alone in the vehicle with him. He shrugged it off and eventually ignored her. Most young girls were that way. He didn't understand why. None of his looks or gestures gave any suggestions. Hell, if this damn job paid more, he wouldn't have to wear the same dirty clothes from the night before.

After an unbearably anxious taxi ride, Gabrielle paid the silent driver and hurried into the hospital. Her mind raced as she stumbled through the corridors, up the elevator, to the receptionist's desk, and stopped once she reached Tiffany Atazon's room. The weaving train of thought that wove itself a tapestry of excitement and confusion was lost. Gabrielle had no idea what to expect. She had no idea what happened to Tiffany or what condition she was in now. Being unaware of those facts irritated her curiosity. What bothered her most, however, was Tiffany's request to see her while in her hospital bed.

Gabrielle took a deep breath and knocked on the door._What is going on?_

"Come in," a voice called from inside the room. The soft voice was missing it's trademark punch.

The young blond entered the hospital room. The eyeful of white walls and emptiness dropped a bomb in her stomach. Her worries about Tiffany distracted her memories from returning to the last time she'd been in a hospital…

Gabrielle shook the dismay from her thoughts. She had a job to do.

Tiffany's swollen eyes were on her co-worker as soon as she entered the door. She smiled until her bruised cheeks pulsed with pain. Gabrielle approached Tiffany's bedside, unable to do anything but stare. Sterile bandages shielded half of her face. The other half was purple. Gabrielle felt pain for her.

"Tiffany… what happened?"

The news reporter tried to sit up. Her arms proved too weak. She collapsed back into the bed, shaking her head in annoyance. Gabrielle tried helping her get settled again, but Tiffany waved her arm away. Her gesture wasn't in annoyance at Gabrielle, but rather with the petty waste of time.

"I would have died…"

Gabrielle listened to the heart monitor stationed by the bed. "Who attacked you?"

"Not who attacked me. That isn't the reason why I wanted you here." Gabrielle knit her brow in confusion, and Tiffany continued. "Who saved me."

The combination of anesthetic aromas and Tiffany's cryptic speech gave Gabrielle a headache. "Okay then, who saved you?"

Tiffany's puffy blue eyes stared directly into Gabrielle's.

"It was Xena."

**To be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

The line was perfect. A young bleached blond man, scrawny from drug addiction and malnutrition, giggled excitedly. Three strips of pure snow were waiting on the table. His hands ran through his hard spikes of hair before picking up a straw. He bent over to start his first row but the straw was knocked out of his hand.

He jumped up, ready to assault whoever had gotten in the way. When he saw who it was he realized that revenge wasn't possible. "Aw, Boss. What'd you do that for?"

Still enraged, the gang leader screamed. His massive arms grabbed the shaky card table and flipped it over. Flakes of cocaine sprinkled the air between them. The druggie whimpered as the snow fell to the ground. He put himself in the middle of the cocaine shower and began sniffing in vain.

"I said save the festivities for after, Strife," he growled to the blond who was now weeping and hiccupping over the loss of his fix.

Strife bent down and tried gathering the cocaine back together. His gloved hands began brushing it into a pile, but the pure snow was now tainted with dirt. "Did you see that, Arian? Snow. That's the closest we'll get to Christmas here."

"Shut up," Arian kicked Strife in the face, sending him to his back. "We have a lot of preparation to do before the day comes." He scratched his coarse black goatee in thought. A grin crossed his face. "There are many more sacrifices to be captured…"

"If Strife wasn't high when you attacked that reporter, I bet you'd have her now," a scratchy female voice called. "Xena's lucky I wasn't there. I'd have given her a run for her money."

Strife groaned and Arian turned to look at Discord. She shifted, putting her weight on her left leg, and gave a malicious grin. "Oh yes, I heard what happened this morning."

Arian watched Discord twirl a mess of wild black hair around her index finger. Her hair, frayed and dark, was the perfect representation of her personality. She was the only female in the entire gang. She was also Arian's pet, despite the fact that she slept with whomever she wished and talked back to Arian more often than not. Their constant game of cat and mouse gave them something to look forward to. At the end of the day she always went back to him… but it was fun to keep him on his toes. For being a homicidal, sacrificial maniac, he was surprisingly co-dependent. Discord loved being the only person knowing it, too.

Upon seeing Discord in her leather corset and matching mini-skirt with her raw legs, flesh turned goose bumps in response to the cold, exposed, desire welled up in his groin. Years of hardness taught him how to conceal the way certain women made him feel. Discord was one of these women. She was cunning, energetic, and twisted. Most importantly, she was dependent.

"We were foolish. Caught off guard," Arian glared at Discord. "Xena isn't an urban myth."

Discord crossed her arms over her chest. "Ran away like frightened little kittens."

"She killed almost half of my men, and put the rest off of their feet for at least a week." Frustration crossed his face. Arian's red eyes filmed over into musty scarlet then black. He paced the filthy floor of the hideout. Discord watched him with her big eyes and exposed her unattractive smile.

Strife was back on his feet. "Still didn't need to ruin my cocaine…" he mumbled.

Discord was as annoyed with his drug habit as Arian. She turned around and pelted him across the face. "Shut up! You'd fucking snort anything anyone put in front of you."

Strife touched his swollen lip ring and moaned. "Hey, what are those white pills you take everyday? I'd like to mash one of those up and see what it does."

"My Calcium pills? If you touch those you won't life to snort one."

"Indeed," Arian chuckled. Her daily pill wasn't calcium, by any means. His crimson eyes peered at her. "Once the men are back on their feet, we'll make our comeback. One that this Xena won't expect."

Discord sauntered towards him hips first. "That's exciting," her cunning voice curled with a promise of seduction. Her big lips, coated in cheap mocha lipstick, puckered and left smudges on her teeth. Arian remained stoic. He faked indifference to her advances as she pressed herself against him. Strife brushed the remains of white dust on his gloves and turned away. He wouldn't miss the scent of her cheap perfume or smeared lipstick on Arian's skin.

"How unfair."

* * *

"Xena? I'm sorry Tiffany, but you're delusional." Gabrielle had risen to her feet and was pacing the length of the reporter's bedside.

For being assaulted by over a dozen men and beaten to bruises, Ms. Atazon was in a cheery disposition. "Oh? Why do you say that?" Gabrielle's skepticism amused her.

"How can you even ask?" Gabrielle ruffled fingers through her short hair. "Xena is an urban myth, that's why! There is no proof of her existence whatsoever."

"What if I told you that I have conclusive evidence? Then what would you say?"

Gabrielle paused. Behind the bruises that looked like fleshy amethysts surrounding Tiffany's eyes, she was serious. Her facial expression was as if she stood before a news camera. "Then I would ask why. Why me? I'm not a real journalist, investigator, or a reporter. I…" her voice faltered with the reflection of what her hopes were reduced to. "I'm just a secretary."

"You're more qualified to take this story than I am. And you know it."

"Excuse me?"

Tiffany extended a hand to invite Gabrielle closer. She heeded, standing over Tiffany's frail form, wondering what forces brought her here and to what intent? There was nothing intimate about their relationship. Still, Gabrielle couldn't stop herself from gently placing her hand over her co-worker's in a gesture of sympathy. "Tiffany, why did you call me here?"

Tiffany's smile no longer held the suggestion of knowing secret information that she knew would drive Gabrielle mad. Her features softened and she became the older sister Gabrielle never had. "Because I remember when I first began training you. You told me all about your passion for classical mythology and literature. You recited gods and goddesses from ancient civilizations that I never knew existed. You know more about ancient civilizations and beliefs than everyone in the office put together."

"Yeah, so? What does that have to do with a modern day freedom fighter who names herself after a legendary Greek warrior? It's just a cunning alias."

"Get my purse. It's next to the television."

Gabrielle frowned. Knowing better than to threaten an injured person, she fetched the purse.

"Now get my office key."

She fetched it out. The key was easy to detect because it bore the Channel 7 News logo. Tiffany managed a grin. "You're lucky I've done all the research for you. In my desk you'll find a folder marked 'Confidential' in the bottom drawer. It contains information on Xena the street warrior and the gang that attacked me this morning. Once you've read the files, you'll understand why only you can follow this case."

Gabrielle's head pounded as she stared at the copper key. Tiffany's instructions registered but the words remained vacant as they settled. "Don't I get a choice?"

Tiffany's smile stuck to her face as she closed her eyes. "You could. But I know you won't. Not after you read the files, anyway."

The dirty key remained still, but her fingers around it shook. It mocked her. Dared her to pursue the excitement she always longed for. Only cowards profess their desire for change and back away when the opportunity arises.

Gabrielle shoved the key deep into her pocket. "In that case, I hope you're right." She rushed around in a whirl of anticipation. "I hope you feel better soon."

Her steps from Tiffany's room were full of purpose. A part of Gabrielle wished that the reporter was wrong. Maybe Tiffany was mistaken. Maybe she wouldn't find the information worth pursuing. Maybe the damned key wouldn't fit the lock to her office.

She was more aware of her surroundings while exiting the hospital. Moans of sick elders reached her ears. Doctors and nurses walked past her with clipboards containing the decisions of God. White walls. White carpets. White lab coats. The white lights of the maternity ward beckoned her, but she kept her eyes from the looking glass and continued to the main exit.

Instead of heading directly to the office and bearing to explain to everyone why star reporter Tiffany Atazon granted full access to her office, she decided the more prudent course of action would be going later in the evening. She stopped at a local deli, picked up a sandwich, and walked to her apartment. The busy crowds on the streets during lunch hour went unnoticed to her occupied senses. Her mind raced with conflicting ideas and perspectives that nothing but a hot bath could dissolve.

She entered her apartment, disposed of the half eaten sandwich at the door, and headed towards her bathroom. She stripped on the way and was down to her simple white bra and panties before shutting the door behind her. Gabrielle let the tub fill with the hottest water she could afford. When the porcelain tub was almost full she quickly discarded her remaining articles of clothing and hopped in. The water was pure; untainted by oils or bubble baths. She hated the feel of anything that wasn't clothing against her skin. Past boyfriends found her boring because she didn't appreciate full body massages.

The tub was too short for her legs. She propped them up and closed her eyes to block the sight of her widespread legs. Water licked the skin where it met her upper chest. Its heat penetrated her skin and relaxed her muscles. With her eyes still closed, she reflected on the day's preceding events. The battle between the logical and adventurous sides of her brain raged on. Gabrielle knew she would prove to be a sorry excuse for a journalist. Her experience equated to a few minor reports that real journalists were too busy to bother with. However, if this case revolved around mythology of any kind, then she was better suited to cover it than anyone at the office.

The dangerous aspect of the case both frightened and excited her. She was tired. Thinking about the gang that assaulted Tiffany surfaced the inevitable surge of pain in her chest. Sharp memories cut into her naked body. She dunked her head and held her breath under the water until the painful thoughts vanished.

After changing into a comfortable pair of jeans and a halter top and doing some simple yoga stances to clear her mind, she aroused the courage to go to Tiffany's office. Skipping a taxi ride once again, she walked to the news building. The evening sky was settling in. The bright blue in the sky was replaced by musky gray. The sun still peeked through the clouds but that didn't stop her from wishing she grabbed a heavier jacket on the way out.

Gabrielle took the usual route to the third floor via the elevator. Her fingers explored the tips of her shortened blond hair. She strolled down the hallway, staring at the marble tiles below her feet. Her face stared back up at her. The janitor must have been around. Her reflection was clear atop the black swirls in the white blocks. Gabrielle wasn't accustomed to being inside the building late in the evening. Her footsteps resonated and with their echo she fooled herself into believing it was the emptiness and not her worries that were exploding the noise.

The main office was the quietest Gabrielle ever experienced. The only hint to the presence of the workaholics that hadn't gone home was the muffled typing slipping through the door cracks. Gabrielle fished her pocket for the key while heading to Tiffany's room. When the key slid into the hole and turned a pulse of panic hit her. She swallowed the annoying fear and entered the room.

Tiffany Atazon's office was organized. The bookcases were smaller than average but tightly packed with dozens of hardcover books. The only sign of clutter was the paperwork scattered about her moderately sized computer desk. The sudden softness beneath her feet inspired guilt. She removed her sneakers and approached the desk. Gabrielle lit the desk lamp.

She forgot what Tiffany's office looked like in the light. Next to the computer was a framed family portrait. Tiffany, her late husband, and their son smiled back. Gabrielle picked up the photograph and sighed. The picture was dated a couple years. Tiffany had less worry lines and lighter shoulders. Her husband had wide shoulders and a broad grin. All three of them had golden curls for hair and matching eyes forged from sapphires deeper than Gabrielle had ever seen.

When Tiffany first began training Gabrielle, the young blonde asked about the gorgeous picture. Tiffany didn't reveal the pain dwelling in her chest as she retold the tragic tale. Her family criticized her for being a young bride and a young widow. Her parents only met their son-in-law once. Their grandson, never. When Gabrielle was her trainee, Tiffany entertained her by sharing tales of their mischievous youth. Trashing graveyards together, feeling confused and alienated during puberty, and marrying before graduating high school.

Gabrielle never heard his name or how he died. She couldn't ask.

She set the picture down and got to work. With her back to the unclosed office door, she opened the appropriate drawer and pulled out a manila folder hidden beneath stacks of useless papers. A forbidding word in bold text glared from the top right corner.

**Confidential.**

She forced the shaking out of her muscles before opening the folder. She didn't bother getting off of her knees. The first sheet of paper slid out of the folder and into the open air. Gabrielle held it straight. Her eyes quivered.

"Gabey, what are ya doing here!"

The sudden voice made Gabrielle jump out of her skin. She lost her balance and tumbled to the carpet floor. Without a moment's hesitation, her frantic heartbeat leapt her onto her feet and towards the intruder.

Gabrielle released a sigh. A very annoyed sigh. "Roger?" her fists clenched. "You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?"

"Well, Gabey," he grinned and stepped into Tiffany's office. "Mr. Perkins asked me to do some, uh, you know…"

"Crap work?"

"Crap work? No! This is very delicate paperwork that he trusts me -and only me- to complete with expert precision and--"

"Sorry Roger, I'm not in the mood tonight."

Roger's eyes wandered to the foreboding folder in her left hand. The thick text interested him like any gossipy journalist. "Gabey!" His nasal voice echoed in the quiet office. "You snuck into Tiffany's office and are searching through her Confidential reports? What are you thinking? I mean, I know that you're jealous 'cause she's a lot more popular with the boss and the media, but-"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and interrupted him. Her voice was a whisper but it carried a raspy edge that showed she wasn't kidding around. "Don't be stupid! I'm here because Tiffany asked me to come here. That's why I left the office earlier today. She requested my presence so she could give me her office key and read these." Gabrielle held up the folder.

Roger was a dense man. Clueless without a doubt, but even he wouldn't buy her story. One of his thick eyebrows arched from behind the rim of his glasses.

Gabrielle did her best to ignore the gesture. "If you won't go away, would you at least shut the door behind you?"

Not one to turn down an opportunity to be in a closed room late at night with the unreceptive object of his affection, Roger obeyed.

Driven by a sudden sense of eagerness, Gabrielle skimmed the first page she extracted from the file. One word spoke volumes of the situation's intensity.

Gabrielle's wide eyes, followed by long silence, left Roger uncomfortable. "Uh… Gabey, what is it?"

The muttering of keyboards in the distance faded into nonexistence. Gabrielle clenched the page. It's full whiteness enveloped her as if she were surrounded by four white-padded walls. When her voice revived, it was shaking from the conflicting emotions battling in her brain.

"The leader of the gang. His name is… Arian."

"Arian?" Roger scratched the back of his head. "Isn't an Arian someone who's star sign is Aries?"

"No, that's not… Well, yes. But it means more than that…" Gabrielle's eyes stayed glued to the paper. Her pupils followed the same lines back and forth. Left to right, right to left, hoping that she was misreading the information before her.

"Well, what else does it mean?"

"They belong to a cult historians have ignored for hundreds of years. They see themselves as the chosen ones. The descendants."

"Descendants?"

"Yes. The displaced children of Ares: the Greek God of war."

* * *

The lone warrior stood atop the complex in the midst of New York city. Despite the high altitude, the cold night air was calm. The dark aura surrounding her form blended into the starless sky surrounding her. Hundreds of city lights burned below her. Citizens going about their night routines. Without care. Without notice.

Sitting beside her was a golden feline. Its short hair radiated light that the moon was unable to provide. She knelt down and slid her hard hands down the length of its spine. The cat curled upward in response. She scratched the underside of her companion's chin and returned her gaze to the busy streets below.

"Come, Argo. We have a long week ahead of us."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The cracked brick provided one of the more comfortable sleeps she experienced. Her long body, hidden inside layers of a black cloak, stood against the building in the autumn evening. The sun abandoned their side of the earth hours ago. Eyes that spent every hour of the day being alert and aware took a brief moment to relax. Her only companion, a golden short-haired cat, sat at her feet and kept watch.

The solitaire street warrior could not be trusted, and could trust no one.

The left eye revealed a slit of blue iris. She peered down at her feline partner. A corner of her lip lifted. Argo sensed the brief moment of peace and rubbed herself against her human friend's leg. Judging that the alley was stiller than the stars in the sky, the woman knelt down and stroked the golden fur.

Her hands felt stiff inside the leather gloves. She clenched her hands into fists and stared at the instruments of destruction they had become. Years had passed since she bared her skin to the outside world. She forgot what her face looked like. The rippled reflection of darkness she saw while glancing down to street puddle couldn't be her.

That was not what she had become.

Some citizens admired her. Other citizens worshiped her. Most feared her. They feared her reputation, her past, and her actions. There was a day when she murdered for fun.

Now, she murdered for justice. To the average person, the fact that she killed was all they needed to know. Maybe it doesn't matter to them, one way or the other, until the night a father is murdered because he raped his daughter. Circumstances and prejudices worked against the street warrior, she knew. She also didn't care.

She never expected forgiveness. The innocent people that fell to her hands could never be revived, despite the way they stared back through every rapist and gangster she slayed. This female street warrior didn't fight for forgiveness, hope, or future. She fought because she had to. If she didn't rule the streets, someone like her would.

Arian. A slight growl escaped her lips as she thought of the gang leader. The havoc his henchmen wreaked on the streets. Her pale blue eyes stared up at the moon. Clouds of heavy air left her mouth. The full moon stared back at her with a silent apology. Her leather hand gave the moon a lax wave as it continued its orbit around the earth. Time was running short. The luminous halo encircling the moon said enough.

Xena pulled her hood back over her head. The darkness in the night was absorbing enough to hide her features, but she would take no chances. They would return for the news woman. Tiffany Atazon.

A thin grin crossed her placid features. She liked prophecies.

They were so predictable.

* * *

Roger's common sense lacks at times, but his imagination is nonexistent. He scratched the back of his head. Imagining the possibility of a Greek God was making his brow sweat. "Gabey, come on. A God of war?"

Gabrielle was unable to read the page due to the violent shaking of her hands. She set Tiffany's paperwork down on the desk and began pacing. Her fidgety fingers worked against her scalp as she thought of the possibilities this research was opening. From her years of reading up on Greek mythology, the information she knew of these individuals was scarce.

"Look, Roger. Whether you believe in the mythology or not doesn't really matter. These guys do!" she pointed an unstable finger at the pile of papers. Roger picked them up, adjusted his glasses, and began scanning the contents. The rookie reporter was too busy with the jumbled thoughts in her head to scold him. "They'll do whatever they can to ensure his revival."

"Whose revival?"

"Who do you think? Aries, the God of war!" Annoyed at Roger's ignorance, she spun around and caught sight of his snooping. "Hey, get out of those. Tiffany gave me permission to read them, not you."

"I doubt Tiffy minds. If she lets an inexperienced reporter like you look through her evidence, I doubt she cares if a seasoned reporter such as myself reads them."

Gabrielle scoffed. Provoked by the casual way he approached the situation, and more annoyed by the grave insults cast in his nasally voice, she grabbed the folder with both hands and took the papers away from him. When she took the pages a tiny slip fell to the floor . Roger's glasses were crooked on his face. He adjusted the thick brims and looked at the white paper rectangle on the floor. "What's that?"

Gabrielle knelt down and picked up the paper. The side facing up was blank. "I don't know…" she turned it over, exposing a series of letters and numbers in a twenty digit span. Her green eyes bore into the thin slip, wondering what sort of problems it suggested.

"What, Gabey? What's it say?"

Gabrielle turned away from Roger, leaning closer to the lamp on the desk. "Nothing much. Just a bunch of letters and numbers…" She brought her head up, glancing at the laptop sitting patiently on the desk. "Unless…"

"No way Gabey!" Roger shrieked. He looked back to the closed door to make sure no one was approaching. "You can't just go into Tiffy's laptop. That's an invasion of privacy. And if anyone finds out, you're in trouble."

Gabrielle already turned the monitor on. "Tiffany told me to look in the folder. That means she was expecting me to find the passcode to her PC files as well."

"Oh yeah?" Roger's glasses felt more uncomfortable across the bridge of his nose. "Did she give you permission to snoop in her computer?"

"Not exactly." Gabrielle mumbled while starting up the laptop. The computer took its time opening various programs. She tapped her fingernails on the desk and tried ignoring Roger's annoying protests. He was more worrisome than she cared to deal with. "Look Roger. I didn't ask you to stay here. If you think this'll get us in trouble, then get lost. Tiffany asked me to do this. I probably shouldn't be sharing this information with you. So how about you leave?"

Gabrielle insulted Roger every day she saw him. He was pesky, annoying, and clingy. Among their co-workers, he was the punch line of every joke. Slow to anger but quick to drop things, Roger was a clown in a business suit. At most times Gabrielle teased him, trying not to take advantage of the obvious crush he had on her. Today, her strung nerves and worries gave her words extra bite.

Roger began a slow pace to the door. Just as Gabrielle thought she would be rid of his protests, he spun around with renewed vigor. "No way Gabey! I can't let you do this alone. This is too much for a rookie like you to handle."

She clenched a fist. Relaxing her fingers, she reminded herself that he was only trying to help. "It's okay Gabrielle…" she muttered, "he doesn't know what he's saying…"

Roger caught wind of Gabrielle's words but didn't have anything to say.

"Two rookies working together on the biggest story of the year," Gabrielle mused out loud.

"Speak for yourself. I'm a seasoned reporter." Roger said with ironic conviction.

Gabrielle approached him and held out her hand for a shake. "Fine. If we're going to work together you are going to have to do what I say. Tiffany put me in charge, and I don't want to hear your whining and complaining all the time. Got it?"

"Got it," Roger took her hand and shook it.

"And one more thing," Gabrielle began as they clasped hands.

"What's that?"

"Stop calling me Gabey."

The tense skin of Gabrielle's palm against his own made him sigh. "Deal."

* * *

He never wore the color white. That's how she knew it was a dream. He sat alone in the dark. White silk illuminating the blackness. Broad shoulders hunched over. His face hidden from her.

She stared ahead at him. As her eyes became accustomed to the starless night she saw swirls in the surrounding space. There were no walls. No trees. No sign of life. Only the two of them inhabiting this lost portion of reality.

Was he aware of her presence? A consuming pain developed where her chest should have been. Her physical body was lost to her, yet she still made her way to him. The dead man's body remained slumped in a simple wooden chair. But he wasn't dead-- he was alive. His chest rose and fell in the same slow, rhythmic way when used to sleep in bed beside her.

The gloom saturating her subconscious made her wary. She hesitated. He didn't move or acknowledge her presence. She wanted to cry out his name. It was foreign to her lips. She wanted to touch him. The lifeless droop of his head frightened her.

Was this how she remembered him?

_"It's been too long."_ Was that him? The soft voice of her lover. Lost to the wind.

"I miss you." Her voice went unheard in the vacuum of space. "Every day."

Besides the breathing in his chest, consuming the vacant air, he was still.

_"They will spill your blood on Olympus."_

"Come here. I want to hold you."

The brightness of his clothing blinded her._ "The time for us to be together has long since passed. You must continue on. For him."_

A nest of golden curls sat, unmolested, atop his sagging head. Without touching him she could feel them crinkling, one by one, between her fingers. His soft hair tickled her when he nuzzled her neck. There were nights, now a lifetime ago, when all she wanted was to caress his curly locks while his head rested on her chest.

"He misses his daddy," a lumpy sob caught in her throat. "Won't you come home?"

Her dead husband moved for the first time. He shook his head. The limp arms dangling on his sides went stiff as he raised them in the air. Golden curls transformed into raven's feathers, and the glowing white silk bled into blood red. Tiffany tried to touch him. Turn his head around so she could glimpse into his eyes for the first time since circumstances had taken him away.

He melded into the empty background. It was there, in her dreams, that she wept for her deceased husband.

_"Arian is coming."_

Tiffany knew she had to get out of the hospital.

* * *

The odor of damp mold that hung in the air did nothing to decay her mood. She hiked her skirt higher up and pretended to size her rounded hips and generous breasts in an imaginary mirror. Floor boards creaked beneath her thin heels as she paced the room in a saunter, deciding which moves she would use on him tonight. One light bulb dangled from the ceiling by a thin wire. It busted months ago and she hadn't bothered to get it fixed. Their entire hideout was dim.

The men she lived with were bastards. They expected her to express some feminine interest in interior design. To her, it was nothing more than attempting to clean a pig's sty. Not only did Discord have better things to do, but she was the only woman. They should be catering to her. Those damned drug addicts never got anything accomplished. At least she pulled her own weight once in a while. Strife's pasty face and jittery hands came to mind, turning her mouth sour. What did Arian see in him? Far as Discord was concerned, he was a good-for-nothing cokehead who caused then more trouble than not. She reapplied her mocha lipstick in the dark on her sensuous lips and slipped her tongue across her crammed front teeth.

A knock at the makeshift door interrupted her thoughts. "Discord, are you ready to go?"

She straightened her hair, hissing to herself. Something was going on tonight. Something important. She thought it over. Nothing came to memory. Whatever it was, Discord was certain she could make Arian forget about it.

"Arian? Come in here."

He groaned but abided by her request. The weak door crudely constructed of plywood and attached by rusty nails creaked in his large hands. He entered the dark room, saw her figure outlined by shadows across the room, and shut the door behind himself. Silence filled the murky atmosphere. Discord would have thrown herself on him by now if she was interested in a quick roll in the dark. Maybe she was going for the difficult approach.

"Discord. Not tonight. We have to go get the reporter. Everything is already set up. Let's move it!" His authoritative tone did nothing to sway her from her goal. She walked toward him hips first with her head glancing down to his feet. Arian waited to hear her shrill giggle.

All he received was a gloved hand placed on his chest. The black fingers crept upward to his face. Arian stared at the hand for one brief moment.

Gloves. Discord never wears gloves.

No sooner than he made the connection and reached an arm out to the woman's neck to constrain her, than a fist connected to his face and sent him to the floor.

"Your girlfriend's taking a nap."

Arian swooped one leg around in an attempt to trip her, but the stranger leapt over it and clenched onto the collar of his leather shirt. With one fluid motion she pulled him to his feet, giving her access to his face. In the starless darkness of the moldy warehouse his red eyes blazed with fury. In a fit of sudden rage he released a series of swings and punches that the street warrior blocked with ease. He drove her around the room, pushing her to trip over cardboard boxes and strewn garbage, but she never lost her footing.

Xena was patient. She could wait for an opening.

He grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her body to put her in a lock hold. Xena was no stranger to this cheap method of fighting. She swung her free elbow above her shoulder and thrust it into his eye. Arian's hold faltered, giving her enough leeway to twirl her body around and delivery a powerful kick to his face.

Despite the power of the blow he did not fall to his feet. Arian rotated his right arm and tightened his fists. "Xena. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Xena's black fingers tested the air before her. They stood two yards apart from the other, positioned in ready stances. As they sized each other up, looking like two lions prepared to pounce, she grinned in the dark. "I thought your girlfriend could use some rest."

Arian didn't flinch. "She does work hard."

"Not for long." The warrior's voice rose into a piercing shrill that the gangster had never heard before. Her fists flew towards him in a blinding array of thrusts. "Hate to disappoint, but I have to stop you."

A wide grin spread across his face. "What if you're too late?"

The street warrior shrugged. "Then I need to work on being punctual."

Arian would have been taken aback by her casualty if it weren't for the fist that impacted his forehead and sent him to unconsciousness.

* * *

Strife scaled the side of the hospital building with growing anticipation. Days had passed since his last fix. Sweat trickled between his eyes as he ascended to the fourth floor. His thin body fit between the windows of each patient's room. The spokes on the underside of his boots, as well as the climbing claws Arian gave him, were perfect for the mission. If there were any security guards patrolling the perimeters or watching any security cameras, they were taken care of long ago by his comrades. Strife wished he could check the time.

Arian was supposed to meet him in Tiffany Atazon's room. Then they would carry her out the window together. He imagined the reward he would receive for pulling this off. Granted, Arian told him that if he fucked up again he was as good as dead. Boss has a worrisome sense of humor.

Strife reached the designated spot. He double checked his interior pocket to be sure the drops were still there. That bitch of a reporter would be sorry Xena saved her once. She wasn't going to do it again.

He took a peek into her hospital room. The blonde reporter was there, lying on her back, consumed by a deep sleep. Strife recalled the last few nights of dreams. About how they were completely natural figments of his imagination not influenced by any mind altering substances.

He didn't like it.

The clawed gloves held onto the top frame of the window. He let himself dangle for a moment. His ears popped. He giggled with excitement. Who else could say they saw Tiffany Atazon in a hospital robe with her bare ass hanging out?

He crawled his spiked feet up and balanced himself. A deep breath entered his lungs. With every ounce of force in his body, he kept a death grip on the frame and jumped back. Gaining a full swing, his boots crashed into the window and he flew threw the shards of glass. His landing would have been smooth if it wasn't for the sudden weight on top of his head.

Tiffany awoke from her dream with a start. She almost jumped out of her I.V. tube when she saw shards of glass surrounding a man with bleached hair fighting an orange feline clawing at his temples soar into her room from the window. Too shocked to scream, she watched the unbelievable scene unravel before her eyes.

Strife wanted to yell but doing so would reveal him to any wandering hospital staff. He landed on the floor with a thud. Argo dug her sharp claws deeper into his scalp. With dozens of tiny pieces of glass embedded in his skin, he jumped to his feet and hurled the cat toward the window.

Argo would have flown out the window. Xena entered through that very same window, a hooded black figure in a starch white hospital room, and caught her feline companion.

"Good work, Argo. I'll take it from here." The cat landed on the floor with a docile mew and watched as her master ascended above Strife and bound him with filthy rags borrowed from a garbage can.

"Oh my… Oh my God! Xena!" Tiffany found her voice. Her misfortune brought her two opportunities to lay her eyes upon Xena. The urban myth. The street warrior tied the gang member up, hands behind his back with a gag shoved tight into his mouth. Tiffany was unable to see her face. The hood she wore concealed any facial features that might be hiding underneath.

"Tell Arian what happens when he sends a sloppy guy like you to do his dirty work." She hissed to his face. Strife nodded vigorously with wide eyes. The sweat dripping down his face soaked into his filthy gag. He mumbled a reply.

"Good. Now come on," she lifted him to his feet and stood in the window. When she was about to leap out, Tiffany called out to her.

"Xena, please."

Her cape rippled in the wind, yet her face did not turn to look at Arian's latest victim. Not wanting to waste anymore time, for she knew someone would soon respond to the ruckus, the street warrior left with a final warning.

"They won't rest until you are in their possession. I suggest you hide."

"Wait!" Tiffany reached her hand out as if to catch Xena. The warrior was already gone. Tiffany sighed. Bloody handprints decorated the floor of her room. She laid down and waited for the next nurse to appear.

* * *

Gabrielle entered the passcode on Tiffany's laptop.

"Here goes nothing."

Roger peered over her shoulder. She took a deep breath and he gulped in her ear as she pressed down on the Enter key.

In a matter of seconds, a list of about a dozen names appeared before their eyes. Gabrielle's hands shook on the mouse.

"Roger…" With that one word, her voice wavered.

"What is it?"

"My name is on this list…"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The lamp's light cast a shadow over the side of Gabrielle's face that Roger was watching. In a matter of seconds her face lost all its color. He turned his eyes to take a look at the list she mentioned, but she abruptly closed the laptop.

"Roger. Can you do me a favor?"

He hoped she would ask him to comfort her. "Sure."

"Can you go to my desk and get a floppy? I'm going to print this out at home and go over it more thoroughly." Gabrielle stared down at the closed laptop. The Dell logo stared back.

"What does it mean?" he asked. Roger blinked away the sweat dripping into his eyes.

"Will you please just do it?" Gabrielle couldn't find the energy to ruffle her fingers through her hair as she usually did while she was upset, frustrated, or in deep thought. Instead, she closed her eyes and saw the words of damnation painted on the insides of her eyelids.

Roger grabbed the door handle. It was slick in his sweaty grasp. He turned it and began to pull the door open.

The phone on Tiffany's desk rang. Roger leapt in fear and let out an unsurprisingly feminine scream. Gabrielle groaned with annoyance and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"You have to get me out of here."

The crackling coming from the other end of the line made the woman's voice difficult to hear. "Tiffany? You're still in the hospital, right?"

"Yes," static, like fear, shrouded her voice. "And I need to get out."

"It's past hours," Gabrielle objected. She looked out the window and noted the moon shining in the cerulean sky. "I'll get you tomorrow morning."

Silence filled the line. Roger hovered over Tiffany's desk, trying to make sense from Gabrielle's side of the conversation. He wiped sweat from his brow. Not receiving a response from Tiffany, Gabrielle continued. "Is your phone broken? All I hear is static."

"It got knocked over." When Roger gave her a inquisitive look, the blond shrugged. "Gabrielle, are you in the files?"

"Yeah. I'm going to save it to an external device and bring it home to look at when I can think. Is that okay?"

"No. But go ahead. They're coming after me. And if you took a look at the file, you know that I'm not the only one."

Gabrielle felt the receiver slide in her moistening hold. She tilted her head, cradling it between her ear and shoulder, and wiped her hands on the front of her thighs. Roger did the same. "I'll pick you up first thing in the morning. I promise."

"They moved me to another room. I've had an exciting stay."

Gabrielle didn't detect any excitement in her voice. "Great. Hang tight." She hung up the receiver and raised her heavy head to meet her curious work partner. "I'm bailing Tiffany out tomorrow."

"What?" Roger tried to whisper, but the word came out in a shriek. "She's not ready! You saw how beaten up she was. They won't release her."

"I have to try. Now get that floppy for me, will you?"

Roger left the room. Gabrielle stood alone in the office. She reached out to the lamp and turned off the light. Tiffany needed her. Arian needed her. The laptop, containing the information that was sending her to an inescapable fate, needed her. She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling it churn, remembering the last time someone depended on her for safety. A violent shudder took over her body. It was time to go to bed.

-----

The street warrior slid between alleyways and street corners with the unconscious gang member on her back. The wailing of police cars echoed from the distant corners of the city. She melted against black brick and rusty street poles. Those who passed by felt the wind rustle by her movements but their eyes could not catch up to the flashes of lightning in her wake.

Xena had a destination. She was anxious to lose the extra baggage. Strife grumbled against her ear. She forced the heel of her hand against his forehead to put a temporary stop to his struggle for revival. Strife's head fell limp against her shoulder once again. With his hands tied together at the base of her neck, he dangled from her cloaked body as she scaled an apartment complex.

Her blue eyes exposed themselves as she looked downward toward the city. Confident that she remained undetected, she continued her trek upward, ignoring the dead weight trying to hold her down. Rows and rows of windows blocking out the world with blinds or curtains passed on both her sides. As she neared the top of the building, she noticed a yellow light radiating from one of the windows. Xena approached with the glass to her left.

She paused. Uncharacteristic curiosity overtook her. Confident that she wouldn't be seen, the street warrior spared a glance into the apartment room. A young woman with short blond hair was leaning over an answering machine. Her back was to the window. She wore a green pair of track pants with a matching tank top. Her surroundings were simple and undecorated. The piece of furniture that looked to receive the most attention was a bookcase brimming over with books. The warrior's gloved hand curled around the window frame.

The girl was shaking her head, most likely at the voice message she was listening to. She was totally oblivious to the pair of icy orbs watching her from the outside. Then suddenly, the brief moment of observation abruptly ended. The man on Xena's back coughed and the girl swung her head around in response to the noise.

Quicker than a blink, Xena whirled out of her sight in the knick of time. She closed her eyes, sensing the blond girl's footsteps approaching the window. Xena couldn't believe the girl had even heard the muted noise that came from Strife's mouth. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, the warrior continued to climb upward. Upon reaching the roof, she grabbed the ledge with both hands and flipped herself backwards, away from the building, creating circling clouds of black in the air until she landed on the apartment complex's flat top.

Looking towards the west, she searched out the worn down warehouse where she would be returning Strife with her message. It was the most run down part of the city; where the crime rate was high and the law enforcement was null. Arian's hideout was situated relatively close to the inner heart of the city. Not for long. Arian wasn't stupid, and now that she knew where he was located he wouldn't stay there for long. No matter.

Xena would always know where to find him.

She took a deep breath and began to run. Her heavy boots slid silently against the roof as she increased speed. Her running body became nothing more than a black blur of motion before she ascended into the starless night. The long black cloak caught gusts of wind behind her body as she floated from one building to the other.

Strife's scattered consciousness tried piecing together what was going on. The incredible heights caused his ears to pop and the hard landings made his stomach drop. He managed an objective groan, but the street warrior ignored his pleas for stillness.

He was on Xena's back. He tried remembering what had happened. Pieces of his memory swam into vision. He was scaling the hospital wall. Arian gave him one last chance to prove himself as a worthy member of the group. "Pull this off, Strife, and I'll supply your drugs for the next year," he said. Then he was presented with the equipment. He concentrated harder. He was in the room. White. Before he could catch a glimpse of Tiffany, Channel 7 prey, something latched onto the top of his head and began clawing away at his temples.

His head still throbbed.

There was a stop to the soaring and jolting. He thought he would feel some peace. And he did, for a brief moment…

Finally. Time to remove the burden. Xena untied his hands that were bound together at her neck. He dropped to the hard ground. The warrior stood before the dark warehouse. She lifted Strife up by his elbows, staring at him from beneath her hood, waiting for him to come to.

He shook his head. Was it just his imagination, or did he feel breath on his face…?

Whatever he felt at first, it was followed by a hard slap. Strife's eyelids snapped open. "Okay, I'm up!"

"Good," the woman crooned. "I hope you remember my message."

Strife was in no position to patronize his captor. But he did it anyway. "Oh? And what if I don't?"

A shadow of a grin crossed her hidden lips. One of her hands appeared beneath his chin and began to crush it. After applying enough pressure, his jaw began to crack and he screamed again. "All right! All right, I'll tell him."

Xena looked at the outside wall they were standing by. On the other side was the room she attacked Discord and Arian in earlier. Both of them were still there, she knew, laying unconscious on the floor. Releasing one loud grunt, she threw Strife at the wall. He did his best to shield his face from the impact, but the shabby wooden strip came at him too soon.

He plowed into it, sending wooden splinters everywhere. Xena leaped out of sight while the boards came crashing down onto his frail body. Split planks of aged wood piled high on top of him. Released dust and mold enveloped the warehouse in a filthy cloud.

An especially large piece fell on top of Arian's chest. The impact awoke him with a start. He found his feet and tried looking through the dirty air.

"What the hell is this?" An annoyed female voice spoke. Discord emerged from the thick air, sporting a rumpled skirt and a large bump on her forehead.

"Xena." Arian whirled around as if he could see her through the dense atmosphere. Without giving his body time to regain its senses, he ran towards the cold outdoors. Almost half of the wall was reduced to a pile of rubble. He climbed the pile, unaware of Strife's presence, and stared out into the city's backyard.

"Xena!" his gruff voice echoed with frustration. No reply.

Dirt caked his square features. The dust irritated his eyes until the whites were as red as his irises. He released another scream of pure rage and stumbled back to the warehouse. By this time, over a dozen of his men had come to find out what happened. Sounds of confusion filled his ears. Arian stood on top of the mountain of wood and raised his scratched up arm to gather their attention.

"Listen!" When the hoodlums quieted, he spoke again. "Xena has made an enemy of us. She wants to stop the rebirth. She knows we are the chosen ones, and she will stop at nothing to foil our mission. We have a new priority; capture Xena, the Urban Myth!" Arian roared from atop his mound, and his subjects cheered in response. The new thrill excited them. They all lived for adventure, after all. Dispelled from living as normal citizens, and shown their true purpose by Arian himself, these men all worked for the same goal.

Arian let his arm fall to his side. The foundation he was standing on began to shake. He looked down and a bloody hand emerge next to his foot.

Discord laughed as Arian struggled to remove Strife from the pile of debris. The onlookers creased their brows in confusion. Where had he come from?

Strife choked on the dust that had entered his throat. Arian was there, tightly grabbing his hand to remove him from the debris. Too tightly. "Uh," he turned his head to spit out globs of blood and dirt. "Hey boss."

"Of course." Arian scowled. "Xena brings you back to me. This is quite the game to her, isn't it?" He released Strife's hand. The blond fell back onto the pile, but quickly jumped back to his feet.

"Oh, no way, she's serious boss." The daggers Arian's eyes shot Strife dared him to speak.

He did. After all, he had a message to deliver. "Xena wanted me to bring a message. Yeah, she said that uh, this… this is what happens when ya send someone else to do your 'dirty work.'" He conveniently omitted the part about his 'sloppiness.'

"Oh she did, did she?" Arian's deep voice returned to its usual charming cantor. The look in his eyes and widened gait hinted towards the rage growing inside of his chest. By returning Strife after she already had him, Xena was sending him a message. She wasn't worried at all. As far as she was concerned, she could easily forfeit the prophecy. And by destroying his hideout, she was relishing the prospective hunt.

_So confident, Xena. It's too bad you haven't seen half of what I'm worth. Once I have you in my grasp, you'll know._

--------

The floppy disc never left Gabrielle's pocket. After arriving at her apartment, she had to spend a good half hour convincing Roger that she would be fine on her own. He was a persistent man, she gave him that, but also not very persuasive. The power of persuasion was coming to her as an annoying trait as well. Tiffany talked her into this mess. It was her fault Gabrielle was in this predicament.

Her hand rested against her pocket. Her name was on that list. Whose fault was that?

Gabrielle's answering machine flashed to inform her that she had new messages. Deciding to give herself a brief distraction, and curious as to who her first callers in over a week were, she went to the desk. Across the room, her curtains were open. She thought about shutting them, but decided against it. She hit the play button. A familiar, perky voice filled the silent air.

"Hey girlfriend! It's me, Venus. How've you been? You never returned my call last week! I know you think you're super busy and everything, but we need to hang out sometime. If you don't want to go to the spa, then I guess we can go workout. I bought a cute pink jogging suit that I can wear. So anyway, I'll, like, see you soon, kay?"

She puckered her lips before the answer finished. Gabrielle shook her head with a playful sigh. Venus would never change. Images of her time in college spent with the playful and beautiful blond filled Gabrielle's memory. They both attended the same college in the city, and sat next to each other in their "Philosophy of Sex and Religion" class. Right before their first exam, Venus asked if they could study together because her ex-boyfriend still had her notes and she couldn't "talk to that scumbag every again," and Gabrielle had her first study buddy.

Although Venus never said who her parents were or what they did for occupations, they gave her as much money as she needed while in school. Including a two-bedroom apartment located in the middle of the city, full furnishing included. Gabrielle shouldn't have been surprised, but she was completely overwhelmed by the amount of pink someone could have in one apartment. Sure, Venus did wear pink almost every day, but any average person would see it inconceivable to have it everywhere. One day Venus insisted that Gabrielle have a slice of strawberry swirl cheesecake. It came on a plate rimmed with pink and Gabrielle ate it with a fork that had a pink handle.

They stayed close throughout college. Venus was a psychology major. Aside from being interested in the history of sex and free love, she was also intrigued by other driving forces of the human psyche. She even practiced doing a therapy session with Gabrielle, free of charge of course. In the end, both girls ended up on the floor in tears embracing each other.

For Gabrielle, things had been awkward ever since. Venus wasn't affected in the least. After all, emotions came with the territory. Gabrielle wasn't very good at that.

She deleted the message. Tonight was a bad night. She could call her back tomorrow.

Gabrielle felt a strange tingling sensation crawl up her spine and spread across the base of her skull. She knew the window wasn't closed and ignored the cold chill.

Gabrielle moved on to the second message.

"Hi Gabrielle. It's me. Lyla. You didn't forget about your family, did you? We haven't heard from you in a while. Mom and dad wanna know if you're coming home for Thanksgiving, okay? So call us back and let us know. We miss you…" There was a significant pause. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

Gabrielle was now leaning over the answering machine, hanging on to each word her younger sister spoke. Her voice carried the innocence of youth that Gabrielle missed to a capacity beyond words. She shook her head. The gesture was more to herself than the machine below her. Worry shook Lyla's voice. Gabrielle heard it in the silence of the message. Now there was nothing left…

The cold chill traveled up her body again. This time it didn't stop. Constant, unbearable tingling enshrouded her head. It gripped her, took control of her body and mind. Suddenly, without knowing why, she whirled around and stared at the window.

A blur of black.

Without commanding her limbs to move, Gabrielle sprinted towards the window and slid it open. Her fingers were beginning to feel numb. As she stood there, gazing into the streets of the city blanketed by the starry sky, an intense longing filled her heart. The indescribable tingling had passed. With control of her body, she reached a hand out into the empty space in front of her window. Instead of wondering what had just happened or what that quick movement outside of her window was, she leaned against the window sill and sighed.

Something was about to happen. An event so great and incomparable to the superficial news she helped broadcast everyday. It would make or break her. The floppy disc was dead weight in her pocket.

Gabrielle went back to her desk and booted her computer. Now was the time.

After inserting the floppy disc and opening the files, she took an indepth look at the information. The first thing she found was the list. She printed it out.

They were all names, first and last, not seeming to be in alphabetical order. She skimmed through the first five, but number six caught her attention.

Philip Atazon.

Gabrielle grabbed a pen and drew a red star next to the name.

She stared at the paper on her desk. Having this information didn't help her to feel any better about the situation. Philip Atazon.

Strife. Discord.

"What odd names," Gabrielle whispered in the dark. Before approaching her own name, she found another familiar name…

"Callista? Callista!"

The paper crinkled in her hands as she gripped onto it. Cold, desolate memories of anger and betrayal filled her veins as she struggled to stop herself from scribbling red marker all over the woman's name. The tip of the marker pressed down into the paper, harder and harder, until she threw the marker across the room and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

As the memory relived itself the picture became clearer and the pain grew deeper. It was there, growing inside of her, spreading like a weed until she thought she would burst.

"Gabrielle!" A female voice called from outside her apartment door. Gabrielle's wailing had reached her ears. She pounded on the door, then pressed her ears against it. The crying was persistent. With every second that passed it grew to unbearable screams and pleas. She barreled into the apartment to find Gabrielle curled up into a fetal position on the ground, sobbing at an incredible volume.

She reached Gabrielle and bent down to try and look at her face. Puffy red eyes overflowing with tears stared up at her.

"Venus… why did I let her die?"


End file.
